Loyalty
by Whispering Darkness
Summary: Magic, wonderful, strange and unpredictable magic took note of him and instead of doing the logical thing, acknowledging what he is, carving out a place between all the other wondrous creatures in this world – magic lifted him up instead. And left him somewhere else.
1. Chapter 1

**Part One**

* * *

If there was one thing Harry Potter had stood for – had always searched for and willingly given at the same time it was loyalty.

In the wizarding world there was never any doubt to where his loyalty lay – he stuck with his friends come hell or high water and he'd _never_ let anyone stop him. It was settled that first day on the Hogwarts express, when Ron had looked at him in awe and Harry jumped to his defense the moment Draco made that first disparaging remark.

Harry had chosen his side _that_ easily – a little kindhearted deception when the Weasleys 'just happened' to be there to guide him to the platform, a helping hand from the twins and a red-headed boy his age who _wanted_ to be his friend.

The choice was made – his loyalty given freely and fully.

But he'd never gotten the same in return. Bits and pieces of it, yes, and Hermione, at least, stood at his side through it all. But she'd given her loyalty to Dumbledore above him and most of the time he hardly noticed, because in the end his loyalty lay there too.

But sometimes he got so _frustrated_ – that they would let that old man keep secrets from him, that they'd follow the headmaster's orders regarding _Harry_ when Harry had always, _always_ chosen them above anyone. He had tried to hang on to them even when the world went to hell and true war came to them, rolling in like a nightmarish storm; terrible, terrifying and unforgiving.

And even if Ron left, Hermione _remained_. And that was something. That was _everything_.

But in the end, after everything it still wasn't enough. Because when the war was over it seems they felt their duty done – they didn't _leave_ him exactly, just started living their own life, with their own priorities and dreams and hopes and he _tried_ to follow, to support them for a change, but no matter how tightly he tried to hold on they slipped further and further away until he started wondering if they were ever truly his at all.

And he was left alone.

That was something he should have been used to by now. Actually perhaps that was the _problem_ – he was too familiar with that feeling of loneliness, he'd known _exactly_ where it would lead him and he was desperate not to fall into that hollow empty space again.

So he did something daring, bold and very stupid.

He followed into his father's and Sirius footsteps and learned the animagus transformation.

Alone, without guidance other than a book and without his friends at his side to caution him. _Aching_ for something he was well aware this endeavor wouldn't give him but he was desperately reaching for it none-the-less and he didn't _care_ that he was always the odd one out, didn't give it another thought as he prepared the necessary potion.

And as he stood and invoked the first change he never realized that his body, his human body was permanently _marked_ by basilisk and phoenix and by a necromancer trying desperately to remain alive. He never stopped to think that his soul – tainted and blessed and twisted into something _more_ could never manage to fit into any normal animal.

Even if he had done more research it would never have occurred to him that the creature he'd shifted into was too large, too powerful, too _other_ for this world. Magic, wonderful, strange and unpredictable magic took note of him and instead of doing the logical thing, acknowledging what he _is_, carving out a place between all the other wondrous creatures in this world – magic lifted him up instead.

And left him somewhere else.

* * *

The first thing he noticed was that the world looked wrong.

And he wasn't talking about his new perspective, which, incidentally, left him many, _many_ feet from the ground. No, being so high up just made it easier to tell – easier to confirm with his eyes what his senses were screaming at him.

This wasn't his world.

It was somewhat funny, really, because he'd been thrust into a completely different world – had been ripped from where he was, from _who_ he was and left abandoned somewhere so _other_ that it should have been an even worse fit for someone, something like him.

But this world wasn't like _his_ – it didn't need to carve out a place for him, because there was always room for more – amongst biju and bloodlines and jutsu, Harry was still _different_, but different was never wrong, not here – no laws of magic to follow, no rules that couldn't be broken. Because magic was order in chaos – spells and rituals and wondrous and free but still contained, chained to the limits set to it.

Chakra was nature. Chakra was life.

And no living being could live without chakra. And Harry was very, very alive.

He just wasn't sure what _else_ he was.

Except this:

He was just as alone as ever. And whatever he was, changing into it made it no easier to bear.

(Because for all that he could feel the life in _everything_, the loneliness was just as heavy.)

* * *

Time passed and Harry learned. He learned that he could change back, but it was difficult – not just difficult but it felt almost _unnatural_ to spend time in his human form – he felt vulnerable, like walking around naked. But he wanted to know where he'd ended up – _needed_ to know, because he didn't want to walk into another new world and be let by the hand like a lamb to the slaughter.

(By eyes that twinkled brightly, and a kind, grandfatherly smile.)

His animagus form (but was it really? Was this really what having an animagus form was like? Because his human form felt so tiny and fragile and _odd_) was humongous – it would be seen from miles and miles away and Harry really didn't feel like drawing attention. (Because he knew too well what being gawked at felt like and it was just as painful and hollow as the empty space of being alone.)

So he walked as a human and in the first village he came across he stayed. It was a big village, medieval, Asian, and filled with so many people – all bustling about. Quietly he looked and listened, with a notice-me-not spell on him at all times he slunk about the village, stole bits and pieces of food, lived and slept and listened and learned.

He picked up some of the language – slowly, his speech still unpracticed for the most part, but he could understand more and more just by observing, listening – and perhaps it was the chakra, the force that bound this world and him and life, that made it so much easier to understand – and so much easier to accept that he was _here_ and he _was_.

He left after a month of lurking; interacting with no-one, because he was alone and he'd accepted that.

When he found a large valley with a lake, days travel from the village, he changed, spread his wings wide open and sighed in relief.

(The loneliness was no easier to bear in this form, but the air tasted so much sweeter.)

He let out a deafening roar and took to the sky.

* * *

This was how he spent a year.

Some of the time in human form – most of it hidden, but sometimes he walked as someone who was once Harry Potter and he talked to people, learned more of the language and customs and even if he messed up sometimes, well who cared? Soon enough he would leave behind the humanness of those places and be free to roar and fly. At those times he would split the ground beneath his paws and fell trees with a swipe of his tail or find the wide open desert and _run_.

On one of those runs he met a group of shinobi.

He had seen them before, these ninja, had heard about what they could do, had followed one at some point and almost gotten caught (because his curiosity was always the thing to get him into trouble).

But this was different. Because there was an animal with the group that was larger than a normal animal had any right to be. (Not that Harry should be one to talk – he dwarfed the wolf by far.)

"Another summon?" one of the shinobi cried out, almost incredulously. "But, whose summon is it?"

Harry shot a disdainful look at all the gathered shinobi and sat down to watch.

Silence spread between them all, until in a split second one of the shinobi acted and another ended up dead.

This was the world Harry now lived in.

He didn't twitch. He'd seen too much dead in his life to let his hero complex kick in again in a situation where he didn't know whose side he was even on.

(Or you could pick a side Harry – just pick a side, something inside him whispered and he ignored it with practiced ease.)

The shinobi for their part kept a cautious eye out, but battled without engaging the large creature (or at least they kept their attacks from coming directly at him). Because no-one wanted to be the one that made him join the enemy.

When all was over, only the shinobi with the large wolf remained.

Harry watched the interaction between the two carefully – the wolf could _talk_ and it was the animal, not the shinobi that stepped cautiously forward to greet him.

Harry nodded in return, ignored the questions and turned to leave.

"I don't think he can speak." The wolf told the man. "And if he can… do you really want to try and _force_ him to tell us who his summoner is?"

The shinobi considered the giant summon. A summons like that couldn't stay hidden for long – he would find out later by doing some digging – not by battling what was obviously a boss summons. That way he'd still be alive to pass on the information. "No. Let's go."

That evening, Harry landed next to a lake and changed into a human. He stared at his reflection for long silent minutes, before he sighed and closed his emerald green eyes. Moments later he was once again in his animal form.

After that day, whenever he introduced himself to people, he no longer used his name of 'Hari Poteru'. Instead he called himself Hiroto and left the last name out – because he had no family anyway and Harry Potter was no longer who or what he was.

* * *

The next time he came upon a group of fighting shinobi it was an entirely different situation.

He had been napping when the sound of steel upon steel, steel upon flesh, screams and fire and lightning assaulted his sensitive ears.

He rose and stood undecided – because it really wasn't his business and his saviour complex had all but burned out.

But it seems it was not up to him at all.

While the one other instance in which he found himself witnessing a shinobi battle, the fighting humans had allowed themselves to be distracted by him, this time the combatants didn't so much as blink.

They invaded his presence with the scent of blood and dirt and death and fought fiercely. But the two who bore the signs of one village were clearly at a disadvantage. Not just because they were outnumbered – it seemed in terms of skill the white-haired one was clearly capable. But his partner was wounded – badly wounded and a handicap. And from all that he had learned so far in this world that meant he should be left behind. This was how ninja – no, how _everyone_ in this world - worked.

"Why do you keep defending him?" Hiroto asked, curiously, even as the battle raged on. "It will cause your death."

The white-haired man grunted, obviously surprised by the loud growling voice from the large creature, but didn't respond. His dark-haired partner, long since fallen down and bleeding from a variety of wounds looked up at him. "Leaf-nin don't abandon their comrades. _Especially_ Kakashi."

"He will die for you. You will let him?" Hiroto pressed further, stepping closer to the downed man because all of this was curious - at odds with everything he had seen of this world so far.

"No. I will not." The man forced out between gritted teeth, and he obviously made an attempt to rise, to aid, to _fight_. The most he managed was sitting up, and it was clear this action had cost him because the man seemed to be holding on to his consciousness by sheer force of will. "But I can't exactly stop him." There was frustration in that voice, anger, aimed at himself – the sort of helpless fury Harry, wizard-boy-saviour knew intimately.

One of those little tiny knifes flew at the bleeding man and Hiroto almost automatically knocked it out of the air with a swipe of his tail. He came closer still, placed his draconian paw behind the man's back and sat down, his head and stomach towering over the small human.

Then Harry felt the weight against his paw increase slightly – such a small amount, and it was hard to tell, really – and maybe it was not weight that made him notice at all, but that swirling life force around and inside all of them – that meant that the man was now leaning against him, tired and drained of all of his strength.

A blast of fire came at them and in a flash the white haired man stood before them – between them and the blaze – spitting a flood of water from his mouth to meet the flames.

Unconsciously his wings came up, and before he even noticed it, they were curling around in front of him, almost protectively. Little knifes rained against them, but even if they were not the unyielding wings of a dragon, they _were_ the wings of a healer – strong, protective and unwavering. Water and sand was harmlessly repelled, and blasts of fire only made their golden glow shine so much brighter.

There was a break in the fighting, one shinobi dead on the ground, three shinobi standing to one side – and one shinobi right next to him.

"Will you guard him?" The white-haired man asked – his voice so much softer than Hiroto would have expected from a man who faced his enemies without mercy, without faltering, without fear.

But that was wrong, because there _was_ fear.

The man did not look at him as he spoke, his eyes firmly on the ninja across from him. "Please?"

The fear was _there_, in that one word, in that almost desperate little waver and when was the last time someone actually asked him, begged him for help in such a way? When was the last time someone _asked_ – truly and honestly, from one person to another without demanding or threatening or claiming it as a right and Hiroto might have refused – _Hiroto_ could say no to this, he could, but Harry couldn't, not really, and maybe not all of who he was had vanished after all.

"I will keep him safely beneath my wings." Harry promised, and his heart beat faster than it had in a long time – because there was someone counting on him and he was not _alone_ and there was something exhilarating and terrifying in all of that.

The masked man nodded and charged – and whatever wounds he had gained in this battle, whatever exhaustion tried to drag him down, the ninja didn't let it stop him – he fought, and without his previous handicap, he _won_.

Three more men dead upon the ground and a fierce murderer marching towards him.

But Hiroto opened his wings when the man who dealt dead reached him and let the shinobi see to his unconscious friend.

And when that man looked up-up-up to meet Harry's still green eyes, and curled his single eye up in a smile, something deep inside of him opened up a tiny bit and sighed in relief.

Then the man slumped down on the floor beside his friend and gave into his exhaustion.

Hiroto stared at the mess of four dead men scattered around in front of him. Then he looked down at the two unconscious at his feet and snapped his beak in annoyance.

With a sigh Hiroto closed his wings around the duo again and settled in to wait.

(Because Gryffindors don't run away, and maybe a part of him was still too stubborn and too stupid and too much of a Gryffindor even now.)

* * *

Both of the men (Kakashi and Genma, they had _names_ and they were people, more than the nameless strangers he crossed paths with because somehow they were _more_) were settled carefully on his back and Harry decided to walk instead of flying because he wasn't used to the feeling of having someone _there_ and it was strange and uncomfortable and what if he dropped them?

They asked for his name and he gave it. They asked for his summoner's name and he fell silent and refused to talk any more because even if he didn't truly understand how those summoning animals worked, he remembered that wolf and his shinobi and it reminded him that he was still and always and endlessly alone.

At nightfall he let them climb down from his back and left them alone to find his dinner.

When he came back, belly full of a few small birds, a small, cheerful little fire was raging between the two and Harry stared at it for a moment, lost in thoughts of fireplaces and Floo and nights spent in the Gryffindor common room with Ron and Hermione, with Neville and Fred and George and at those moments he had felt so filled with life and laughter and love and loyalty that he'd felt his heart could burst.

"Are you alright?" Genma asked him. A hint of concern pointed right at him, and wasn't that strange? How could this shinobi read his inhuman face?

"I - am." His answer was more of a statement that he _is _rather than that he is alright. That he is alive and breathing and a _being_, even if not exactly and not always a human being, but I _am_. I am _something_.

"Well, I've regained a bit of my chakra." The masked one, Kakashi, cheerfully dropped into their stretching silence. "I'll summon Pakkun and we can send the Hokage a message."

Hiroto stared at the small pug – at the summoner and his summons as they assured each other of their wellbeing, bantered, badgered and exchanged small tokens of affection, all of the fondness hidden beneath little sniffs and growls and touches and his curiosity grew because really, how does that work? How can a human understand an animal so well – how can these animals even _speak_, or are they not animals at all, but more like him?

"Kakashi?" Hiroto asked after the little dog had long since left their sight, not bothering with the strange custom of suffixes - really, what use did he have for them?

"Hmm?" That sharp eye belied the shinobi's otherwise carefully casual appearance.

"How do summons work?" Hirotu straight-out asked, because he long since stopped caring what people thought about him. He preferred being direct – he'd always had because lies, deception and manipulation only hurt people, _people like_ _him_, in the end.

Both ninja sat up.

"What do you mean?" Kakashi asked, still hiding something beneath his easy-going tone.

"Just that. How do summons work? How do animals become summons? _Why_ do animals become summons? How can you summon them?"

This time both shinobi gave up any pretense at disinterest. "Don't you know?" Genma marveled and then frowned in thought, "But if you're not a summon, then what are you?"

Harry looked away, his wings instinctively curling around his body like a shield. "I am… I just… _Am_." Because what could he say?

In the silence of lost and empty and hollow and _alone_, Genma slowly walked over, crossed that distance, ducked underneath his wings and settled down carefully against his furry side.

And for a moment it was hard to breathe because that was something – _something_, anything, and how long had it been since there was someone or something so human?

Then Kakashi's voice washed over him – as soft and gentle as he'd first heard it, but this time not with fear or hope or 'please', but with something warm and protective and sheltering like wings.

The man talked of ninken and friendship and sensei with toads and Harry listened and sighed and felt the warmth against his side pulse with life.

(And the campfire blazed in their midst, as much a living part of this as anything else.)

* * *

He followed them, like a lost puppy. Followed when he had _sworn_ to himself that he would never give out his loyalty that easily anymore. (That a grandfatherly smile, a kind word and a boy his age looking for a friend would not be enough for him to become that weapon – not again, not ever again.)

But Harry _was_ that lost puppy, had always been that lost little puppy filled with an aching desperate _longing_ and he couldn't deny it, not to himself.

So he carried them back to Konoha - to a forest with trees so large that it was _almost_ possible for him to walk between them without felling trees with every footfall. Almost, but not quite, so he stopped and told his passengers 'hang on' when what he meant was don't let go – just _don't_ _let go_.

He lifted into the air keeping his wing-beats as gentle as he could and Kakashi said 'Maa, it's fine.' and Genma whooped and laughed. And had Harry ever smiled in this form before? He didn't think so because his face felt so _strange_ because beaks can't shift into smiles, can they? It seems that they can.

Just outside the gate Kakashi asked him to land and so of course he did.

(Careful, so very careful not to step on anything or anyone because Genma had told him a bit about Konoha and this was their _home_ and Harry literally could not mess this up. _Couldn't_ because how could he bear that endlessly stretching loneliness of Hiroto forever?)

The gates were high, for human gates, but Harry was higher and had a good view of the city – village - from where he stood.

He lay down, allowing the ninja to slide from his back easily, and allowing himself to peak through those doors like a diorama. And there was something nice about that thought – about that feeling and the way those gate guards at their desks gawked and blinked and then smiled at him like a friend. (Because he was a giant creature that he was sure they never could have seen before, some sort of mixture between griffin and dragon and phoenix and as tall as a large building but those tiny humans smiled at him from their desks none-the-less.)

"Konoha seems nice." Harry said, something stunned in his voice.

"I'd ask you to come in, but I think that might be a somewhat of a challenge." Genma replied, and even if he sounded almost flippant, his eyes were shadowed with something both warm and sad.

"Not as much as you think." Harry answered, but he didn't change – because his human form was weak and vulnerable and tiny and he wasn't sure if he could bear this largeness in his chest while being so small.

Kakashi shot him that look – that careful one filled with too many hidden things. "What do you mean?"

Hiroto shrugged in response; "I don't always look like this."

Genma lay a hand on his flank and brushed the soft, lion fur. "What else could you look like?"

"Something bony and small and _naked_." Harry answered, truthfully, his voice little more than a whisper.

"Like what, exactly?" Kakashi pushed – with that soft voice that he only used when he thought something might break if he added more force to it.

Hesitantly, Harry answered because he could never _not_ answer that tone of Kakashi, not while a part of him was _Harry_.

"Somewhat like you."

"You can look human?" the dark-haired ninja sounded stunned. Of course he was, because that was not normal. He was _never_ normal.

"I." Harry stumbled on his words, as lost as someone stumbling around in the dark. "I." Because at one point he _was_, but was he now? He wasn't sure. And how could he be sure? "I was." He finally answered, the words tumbling out like a scared kitten.

"Could you show me?" Kakashi asked all soft and soothing and there, and Hiroto wasn't sure, but Harry wanted to - ached with the want and need, not because he missed being human, not because he _wanted_ that form, but because it would allow him to really look these men in the eyes, to walk besides them as one of them and wouldn't that be something? Wouldn't that be good?

Or would it be a lie? Would it be another world of bits and pieces of loyalty and love thrown at him like scraps to feed the good little dog and keep it tame? He didn't know, didn't know at all but he _wanted_.

"Well, hello." Genma managed, blinking at the young man so suddenly in front of him. A silent moment of assessment between them and Harry realized that he was _short_. He had to look _up_ to meet Genma's eyes and that was just wrong, because how can he shelter this man beneath his wings when he was so _tiny_?

Genma cleared his throat and carefully asked; "So who are you?"

"Harry, my name was Harry." He said with a lostness in his voice that was impossible to suppress in this form (so soft and vulnerable and open and small).

Kakashi was even more gentle in his silence - as the white-haired man carefully took one of his hands.

A moment of stillness, of silence and Harry couldn't help but look, look in that one eye and feel himself balanced on the edge of something - and if he fell, he would break, he was certain - he would fall and break and this form was _too small,_ too vulnerable, too easy to tear apart.

"Please." He whispered, fear and hope and pain and alone all wrapped around it like wings.

Genma lay a hand on his head, not as fluffy as a lion's fur, but the caress was just as tender.

A tug on his hand and together they passed the towering gates.

(Led like a lamb towards the slaughter, Hiroto whispered in his mind - reminding him of weapons wielded by uncaring hands, always for the greater good.)

(Loyalty - Harry answered with desperation. Loyalty or empty spaces of hollow and alone. And he was determined to hold on even more tightly this time, so tightly that they couldn't slip away, that _he_ couldn't slip away, because that emptiness was endless and could devour people and creatures bigger than himself.)

* * *

**A.N.** Ok, so a bit strange and train of consciousness and who knows what. But I needed to write something and this is what spew itself across my screen. On the other hand, I did end up putting it in a one-shot instead of a collection of drabbles so there's that.

Might be more to come - Because I'm unpredictable like that... I just never know if the story is really done or if my imagination gets sparked again.

This story _was_ going to be Harry as a kick-ass summons, but somehow the story just went this way and stopped here, maybe. I hate it when my stories run away with me. Well, that's not true, actually. It's fine.

Supposedly Hiroto is a combination of **hiro** 'large, great' and **to** 'soar, fly'. But then, that's just what internet tells me.

Now I just need to find some pretty coverart. I'm not up to drawing a griffin/dragon/phoenix hybrid so... google a picture of Kakashi? Meh...


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

* * *

The village had looked small when Hiroto first saw it, big for a village, but so _tiny_ and filled with tiny humans, even if they could jump and dash around and spew torrents of water or fire from their mouths.

Now those people were _around_ him, _larger_ than him and he was just one of the ants caught up in the stream of people all around him and this time he was _not_ practically invisible - but right out here in the open in the middle of it all.

(And that shouldn't be worrisome, not at all, because it was _normal_ to walk amongst people like this, but Harry wasn't really Harry anymore and despite the clothes he wore, he was still far too naked and he'd never been normal anyway.)

Then Genma smiled reassuringly and said he'd be right back and disappeared in a gust of wind and leaves and suddenly the press of human life seemed even heavier, invading all of his senses – too much and too many and he was_ right out here in the open,_ where everyone could see and touch and hurt his fragile human form.

Hiroto wanted to leave or hide, but Kakashi's hand was warm and certain, wrapped tightly around his own and Harry would never be the one to let go.

Silently that hand led him through big, human streets and to a round building with a sign on it that Harry, for all his time in this world, still couldn't read. (Because hearing and speaking was one thing, but those lines and squiggly shapes? That was something else. And why would he even want or need to know? One village was as good as any other, whatever their name, when he passed through them all as unnoticed as a ghost.)

There were more people inside the building – all of them shinobi, but not small and dismissible, because Harry was the tiny one now and more vulnerable than any of them because they were so many and he was alone.

But that wasn't true, because Kakashi was there and looked down (down!) and smiled with his eyes and promised, "Maa, it's alright. We'll just meet the Hokage and talk to some people, so that you can stay for a while. If you want to, that is."

There was no need for an answer, not really, because the masked nin had to _know_ (somehow this shinobi could read him even with Hiroto's appearance, with a beak and fur and feathers and scales). Still, Kakashi waited silently, expectantly, for Harry to decide, not pushing or prodding or demanding or threatening, just _there_ and waiting as the silence stretched and stretched.

Harry breathed and nodded and said only, "I _want_."

But that was enough because Kakashi had read him even as Hiroto, so he led and Harry followed because that was who he was now and because the man had never dropped his hand, not while standing there, waiting, in the middle of a large room filled with shinobi, comrades, strangers – with their watchful, curious and careful eyes.

Kakashi had _held on_, so Harry followed.

* * *

Kakashi let go of his hand, opened the door and guided Harry inside with a soft push against his unsubstantial back. Genma was there, so he stepped further inside, and he let his eyes linger on the man for a long moment before he looked towards the other person in the room.

Hokage was not what he expected, because he thought there would be careful hands and a cunning mind and threats and threads to bind and keep and hold and _use_. (All for the greater good.)

But she was bright and bold and her hands weren't careful but they were strong and _strange_ because they belonged to a warrior and a leader and a healer, and Hiroto relaxed in his mind because he was just the same – sharp and hard and soft and griffin and dragon and phoenix and not what was expected either.

She said "thank you", because Genma was there – alive and healed and whole and he must have told her what had happened.

Harry just nodded mechanically, because _thank you_'s were strange – sometimes casual and easy, sometimes raw and real and heavy and sometimes just a blanket covering something else and Harry had never been any good at telling the difference, especially in a stranger.

Hokage (or was that Godaime? That's what Kakashi had called her when they walked in) narrowed her eyes, but that was fine, because Genma smiled something soft and real.

"Yeah, I don't think I've taken the time to say that yet," Genma said, "but thank you Hari-san, for saving my life and bringing us home."

And this was even worse – or better, because somehow he could tell that this _thank you_ was all warm and light and heavy and there was a hint of 'not alone' and something of a promise, so Harry said, "I promise."

And that's not something people said, was it?

He tensed and bit his lip in thought, and took a shuffling step back, only to find Kakashi still warm and _there_, guarding this human back.

A hand rested on his shoulder and maybe it made sense after all, what he'd said, because the masked shinobi let out a chuckle and Harry could _feel_ the man's chakra filled with something good and kind – like comfort and joy and protect and home.

Harry relaxed and a shy smile rested on his lips – a familiar stranger, because even as a human he hadn't smiled like that in years. (Not since that first year in Hogwarts when magic was still a dream come true and friendship a new, wonderful thing that he was certain could never be tainted or broken.)

Something melted in the room – at first he thought it was him, but it might have been Godaime because she sighed and shook her head as if giving in to the inevitable. "Alright, fine. But this is on you two – keep an eye on him. And you," the woman said, pointing her finger straight at him, stern like McGonagall but so much more alive (the chakra almost _dancing_ around her in a celebration of life), "Don't cause any trouble."

He nodded obediently, because that was what you were supposed to do. But as they walked out of the building he quietly confessed to the two shinobi at his shoulders, "People used to say that I was a magnet for trouble." He worriedly looked up at Genma, a part of him afraid that he'd be send away, _not worth the effort, not worth the trouble_. "It isn't really true, it's not like I go looking for trouble. Trouble just usually finds me."

Genma laughed, "Well, I'm sure we'll be fine."

Kakashi petted his hair with the same casual reassurance and absentminded fondness he'd used on his worried dog. "Don't worry about it, Hari-san. I'm sure Tsunade-sama will be reasonable if anything happens."

The brown-haired shinobi snorted and shook his head muttering, "Reasonable, huh?" as if that was doubtful, but that was fine, that didn't matter – all that mattered was that it seemed like he was worth the trouble to these men.

"Are they the same?" Harry asked, because if he stuck around with people that had names that mattered, maybe he needed to know stuff like that.

"The same?" Genma wondered, with a slight tilt to his head.

"Godaime. Hokage. Tsunade. Are they all the same? I thought her name was Fifth. Is that a name? Maybe there's a family name in there. People have those, don't they?"

The two shinobi exchanged a look, but Harry couldn't read it. He frowned in concentration, trying to decipher what they were silently conveying but it was useless, so he gave up when the white-haired ninja started to speak.

"Aah, people do. Her name is Tsunade of the Senju and she is the Godaime Hokage of this village. You can call her Hokage-sama or Tsunade-same, or Godaime-sama, it's all fine."

Harry wrinkled his nose at the suffix but nodded all the same – this was Kakashi, so he would try to remember to do that even if suffixes seemed superfluous because a name was a name and a person was a person.

"Tsunade-sama" Harry picked, because titles like headmaster, minister, hero or saviour were things he could do without, even if, in a way, it made sense for her to have them because she was leader and healer and warrior, just like he was Harry and Hiroto, dragon and phoenix and griffin. She was more than one thing, so it's not that strange that she would have more than one name. "That makes sense."

"That's good," Genma said, encouraging and maybe amused, ruffling a hand through his hair and Harry was getting used to this – to having them _there_ and _close_ with their human kind of wings.

"Do _you_ have a family name, Hari-kun?" Kakashi asked, and the suffixes still didn't make sense because they shifted and changed and names and persons did that enough without adding to it, so maybe he should ask them to stop?

"I don't have one of those," he informed them.

"A family name?"

"No. A –san, or a –kun or a –sama," Harry said with a frown, "because you are Kakashi and he is Genma and I remember those names, so isn't that enough? Why do you need more? I am Harry, or Hiroto – why dress it up any differently than that? Do you _need_ to have a –san or a –kun?"

The shinobi stared at him in silence for a moment before he lightly shrugged his shoulders. "Maah, not really. Hari. Kakashi. Genma. That's fine. It's just considered polite when you talk to strangers," Kakashi said calmly. The shinobi's single visible eye peered at him curiously. "What about your family name, then?"

"It died," Harry said, because he never wanted to be Harry Potter again – because those two words put together always meant so much _more_ than just 'Harry' and it was too heavy and too big, especially when he was this small – and even if he was somehow still Harry after all, _Harry Potter_ – saviour, beacon of light, scapegoat, celebrity – had died somewhere along the way.

The shinobi both nodded, and there was an understanding there that didn't surprise him. After all, these two men had shown that they understood Hiroto perhaps better than he understood himself these days. Somehow they could see who or what he was and maybe that should make him feel even more naked, but instead he was relieved that there was at least _someone_ around who knew how to interact because _he_ was rather lost when it came to any of it.

"So you are Hari, and I'm Genma and that's Kakashi. That settles that then," the dark-haired ninja said cheerfully, as if it was an agreement instead of their names.

"But Godaime is Tsunade-sama, because Kakashi said so," Harry uttered, with all the certainty of a world-wise child.

"Sounds about right," the masked shinobi agreed, eye curling up with contentment.

And Harry thought that maybe he wasn't too bad at this at all.

* * *

Harry was doing alright. Konoha was big and strange and loud at times, but Kakashi and Genma were usually there – solid and reassuring presences at his side.

But Konoha was full of life and people and Harry wasn't really used to it anymore – not after being Hiroto for so long that being a tiny wingless being without fur and claws and a beak felt a little unnatural. He was getting used to it though, to being Harry again instead of Hiroto and in a way it was also nice – to be small and the one sheltered by a larger form.

He was getting used to his human form, but he _missed_ being Hiroto. And he missed the silence and calm of being out there.

And yet, he didn't want to leave this human-ness that he found. He didn't want to _leave_ this village with Kakashi and Genma and those strangers that smiled at him, because alone was still a lot worse than this crowded feeling pressing down on him.

It was a dilemma that he pondered for a while with a deep frown on his face.

And Harry wasn't a shinobi like his… friends? (His comrades? His packmates? In the end he settled for just 'his' because he wasn't one to complicate things.) He wasn't used to guarding his face and keeping the emotions hidden, not anymore, because it's been years since the Dursleys and he'd never been any good at it anyway, and he'd been Hiroto lately and alone, so who did he need to guard them from?

The senbon-chewing man took one look at his face and queried; "Troubling thoughts?"

This man had sat himself down next to Hiroto only hours after their first meeting on a battlefield; he'd been gentle in his firm, fierce presence there, crossing that empty gaping distance between Harry and everyone else deliberately, as if it was a promise made without words, and Genma hadn't broken it since. He was still right there.

So Harry answered. Then he looked up, worried frown still on his face as he awaited an answer.

"Well, we can fix that problem, can't we?" the shinobi said, with more warmth a killer-for-hire should be able possess. "Sounds to me like you just need to stretch your legs. Or wings."

The following afternoon Kakashi returned from his mission, eye-smiled at them both and agreed; "It's fine with me. Tomorrow, Hari, you can take us flying."

* * *

Then the dawn came, and the skies were blue with little wisps of clouds - and they were wide and wonderful and _waiting_ _for him_.

But not him _alone_.

When Kakashi didn't show up on time, Harry used the feel of the shinobi's chakra to track him down, interrupting the conversation the man was having with a blank-eyed shinobi by impatiently rushing to the white-haired nin's side and dragging him away by his hand without saying a word.

The other, nameless ninja made some sort of indignant complaint that Harry half-listened to and ignored completely.

_His_ ninja just chuckled and let Harry drag him to the gates.

(And all the while a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm was bubbling happily in his chest, of the likes that he hadn't felt since Quidditch and flying lessons and '_I have a godfather who cares_'.)

Outside of that bustling human city, Hiroto finally stretched his wings once more and _flew_. His first flight that day was glorious and wild and unencumbered – and he reveled in the freedom of it, but also in the knowledge that when he was done there were people waiting right there on the ground for him.

His second flight was with two humans on his back, but it was not the careful lift he had given the two men before. Instead it was the three of them laughing against the rush of wind in their ears and daring or badgering each other to agree to more and more outrageous stunts.

(They didn't go back to the ground until after the two shinobi had managed to hit two different specified targets on opposite sides of Hiroto, with his senbon-wielding man standing on his head and the masked-ninja on his back, both of them clinging there with chakra while Hiroto was upside-down at the lowest point of a fast-flying loop. Then Kakashi started mentioning elemental chakra and lightning and wind and the beats of Hiroto's wings and Harry was almost curious enough to try, but Genma said 'no' and decided that that was enough flying for today. Kakashi agreed and then casually wandered over to Hiroto's ears and whispered 'later'.)

* * *

Hiroto returned to the ground. In the open skies far from humans (beside _his_ humans) the sense of freedom had been exhilarating. Now, down in the forest he was once more walled in. Not by buildings and crowds, though, but by the trees he would knock over if he moved a little too carelessly.

With a sigh, Harry changed back and strangely enough for the first time he felt freer in his human form than as Hiroto. Because now that he was small there was more open space, room for him to run and _breathe_.

So he ran a little bit, and he breathed, while Kakashi and Genma sat and watched. (Their eyes were peaceful on him, not piercing or crowding, but just there.)

They stayed in the forest for hours.

And perhaps it was all rather silly – because Harry had changed back into Harry, and Kakashi was oh-so-patiently teaching him how to catch fish and gut them and cook them and which spices would poison them if you have unwanted guests, and which would promote blood clotting if you were wounded and tasted pretty nice too.

It was a shinobi version of a picnic – and perhaps, a survival exercise for Academy students. But Harry didn't mind when they treated him like a child, for all that he was only a few years younger than them. This world was different than his own, after all, and there were many things he had never had anyone to teach him.

It was silly because he didn't need to know these things, not really, not when he was Hiroto. But he was _Harry_ now and silly or not, it was… _nice_.

When they headed back, Harry was still Harry. And this time it was Genma who carried him on _his_ back instead.

* * *

When they reached Konoha, something was wrong.

People, shinobi, were rushing around in tightly controlled chaos. The clang of steel met his ears and Kakashi shot forward, barking a question at the first ninja he came across.

It was somewhat disturbing, how quickly the two easy-going, playful people he had spent time with in the forest, suddenly transformed into tense, blank-faced soldiers. But then, Harry reasoned, _his_ transformations were just as fast – and wasn't Hiroto just as different?

In a flash, Kakashi was back. "Prison break," he informed Genma, who had carefully set him down and had moved somewhat protectively in front of him. (When had anyone ever shielded him from anything? Not since his mother, Harry was sure, not since that night.)

Kakashi gave Harry a little push, towards the two men who often guarded these gates. "Stay here." Then both of them jumped forward, into the fray, with Kakashi sprouting some meaningless names and facts and words at the other.

Harry blinked and stayed, because as a human he was too small and weak and as Hiroto he was too big and dangerous – in this strange, unaccustomed fight with those quick moving ninja, he might destroy things he wasn't supposed to destroy.

How would he be able to tell the difference between these fighting, nameless people anyway?

So Harry stayed put and saw flashes of weapons and fire and heard curses and shouting and choked off screams. Then a group of the dangerous shinobi rushed past them, throwing knifes that were barely deflected by the two men at his side.

Then another group rushed past, and one of them was Kakashi, Genma not far behind, so this group _didn't_ throw any knifes at them.

Quick as a snitch, they left his field of vision. And a part of Harry wanted to move forward, out of the dubious shelter of the gates and into the open so that he could _see_. But Kakashi had told him to stay here, and he didn't really _need_ to see anyway.

He could feel the familiar hum of friendly chakra buzzing around nearby, soothingly strong.

That was alright then.

* * *

Then things went even wrong-er.

There was a yell, and it was Kakashi's voice and there was something about it that made his heart constrict because there was something painful/angry/please about it.

He could not lose this now – not yet, not already, _not at all_.

Harry ran forward, outside the walls and into the open.

The group of shinobi, the dangerous _thieves_ \- who were trying to steal these things away from Harry, things like not-alone and like people with _names_ – were suddenly not dangerous at all but tiny and terrified and running and fighting and dying.

And Hiroto roared and raged and stretched out his wings as far as they would go, knocking down a tree and overthrowing some bushes and he didn't care because his wings would shelter and protect and his beak and claws would tear and rip and these stinging little ants wouldn't get one inch closer to what was his. (They wouldn't steal from _him_.)

He let them run and fight and die – let the shinobi with Genma' and Kakashi's sign (that meant home) on their forehead or arms or neck run after them if they wanted to. But he didn't follow. Instead, he turned and tilted his wings to find those he guarded like the dragon he was.

Kakashi was still holding onto a bleeding man, a dying man because humans, even these ninja were fragile, bony, squishy things.

Hiroto carefully ducked down and asked his ninja; "Can you save him?"

Kakashi winced, just slightly and shook his head. "Even if Tsunade-sama was here… there's too much damage to his organs. It's unlikely even she could..." The white-haired nin's words trailed away into silence.

Hiroto breathed and tasted sadness in the air and then Genma was there too, right beside them and said 'oh no, Raido' with a sigh as soft as a half-forgotten dream. And the chakra, the life, was draining away with the blood and Harry _wondered_. Before Kakashi and Genma he had never smiled since this form and his wings were the wings of a healer - and he had never _cried_ because hollowness was not sadness and he'd long since learned there was no use in tears.

Except sometimes there was.

"Can I save him?" Hiroto sounded out, the words slow and pondering like it was a puzzle and not a life, because this man was just a man and he didn't have a name.

(But he _did_ have a name because Genma said 'Raido', said 'oh no'. 'Oh no' and there was sadness and pain but no desperation because these were shinobi and dying was what they did.)

But sometimes they lived – sometimes they had _names_ and they _lived_ because Hiroto was still Harry, wasn't he?

He let out a mournful trill and there was no griffin in his voice, but phoenix and healer and a wave of protection and chakra and _life_ that wrapped around everyone present. Then the trill died out, and the man was still dying and Harry said honestly; "I don't know if I can cry."

"Can you save him?" Genma asked hoarsely, and suddenly there _was_ desperation. Desperation because there was hope and Harry hadn't meant to put that there, in Genma's face. But he _had_, so he leaned over, his head hovering above the man that was 'Raido', his face almost even with Kakashi's who was still crouched and holding that bloody mess in his arms.

"I don't know," Hiroto said. He looked down at the ninja and _willed_ tears to rain down, but his eyes were empty and this man was dying, his last moments and minutes smoothly sliding away.

Then he looked up at Kakashi, at his one closed and scarred eye and the other wide open and there was something in that open eye, something like 'please' and protection, and there was a hand on his shoulder that could only be Genma, because he could _feel_ the warmth and the sadness and that painful desperate hope seep into him through that touch, through the chakra that was life and everywhere and inside and around them.

And Hiroto could cry after all.

"What sort of trouble did you say you usually ended up in?" the masked ninja asked mildly, after the man named Raido had extracted himself from his hold, had stood and stared down at himself and found himself patted and prodded by his nearby comrades and engulfed in a hug by Genma.

Harry just laughed – a short, startled, _real_ laugh and crawled over to the masked shinobi that was still seated on the floor, burrowing himself in the man's bloodstained arms, all tiny and small and human once more.

* * *

And somehow it had all led to this – somehow he was once more a weapon.

But that was alright because he _knew_ and because in the end, _in this world_, they were all weapons together. They were pain and fear and just-hold-on-tightly, _tightly_ don't-let-it-slip-away - and fierce and dealers of death and _loyalty_, always and forever.

And in Harry' or Hiroto's mind there had never _been_ a greater good – just people worth fighting for, so he didn't even pause (like a true Gryffindor) and Genma signed his name right beneath Kakashi's on that brand-new, _too large_ scroll (because surely his heart couldn't be big enough to have room for more? More names and more fragile beings to shelter beneath his wings and more careful, warm arms to be sheltered by – surely that wasn't possible?).

And Harry felt only relief because it was settled then, he was Harry and he was Hiroto, and he was stuck in this world, different but almost the same, because he was still a weapon - but he was _not alone_, not ever alone and somehow he could live with that.

(Because magic is something wondrous and strange, but Chakra is life and Harry was _filled_ with it - so very, very alive and maybe that was somehow better after all.)

* * *

**A.N.** Finally! For some reason this chapter was a lot more difficult to write for me than the first... But hey, that's one thing done, at least.

Thanks a bunch to BeyondMyReach for being my beta on this! Sometimes I need a little. erm. encouragment to continue with stuff. xD

Aaah, and I forgot to say 'thank you' to Phantom Feline, who did the brainstorming/feedback thing with me. So thanks!


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